Secret Room
by Bouncy White Ferret
Summary: AU. Fenrir is a low-paid waiter who has just moved in with a woman he barely knows. What he doesn't know, as well, is that there is another inhabitant in the house. Fenrir/Remus, non-violent.
1. Velvet

A/N: This has been one plot which has been drifting around in my mind for very long, whilst working on Wingardium Leviosa.

Before I start, I want to re-emphasise**: This is AU. Fenrir is largely OOC, and so is Remus. If you prefer more canonical characters, my other fic would be a better read for you.**

* * *

Fenrir Greyback wasn't exactly sure how he had wounded up in a relationship with a bland woman whom he barely knew. Her name was Margaret –even her name was so…_normal_- and she had been nothing but a regular customer at the scrappy restaurant where he worked at as a waiter.

Recently, he had agreed to sell off his dilapidating apartment room to live with her. Such a decision garnered no support from his fellow waiters.

"Didn't you hear the rumours! The number of men who went to live with her and ended up running away from her damnable house! Something's up with her and that house; those who left say something about this creepy…" The one called Sirius would whisper dramatically into his ear every time Fenrir reported for his shift.

The greasy chef in the kitchen, Severus, would chip in at times, reminding Fenrir that no one knew much about this woman. Margaret was the only subject Sirius and Severus could ever agree on- so that was saying something.

Fenrir always shrugged off the last bit about supernatural happenings, however. He didn't believe in such farcical nonsense. Sure, no one, even him, knew much about that woman –he only knew that she had some job that required her to fly to distant countries rather frequently; but he could do with more comfortable living quarters. He was also running low on funds, his meagre salary barely able to cover for his living expenses. He supposed that was why it seemed wise, at that time, to agree to live with her.

* * *

Standing in front of the house, Fenrir had to admit he did feel rather spooked. The house sat on a street by itself. The garden around it was a tad overgrown, but the colourful flowers peppering the ground more or less made up for the existence of weeds.

It wasn't terrible-looking; for sure, it was miles better than his apartment, but there was something off about its aura. It almost felt as if the house was trying too hard to be aesthetically pleasing and warm.

Well, he had made his choice. No turning back now. He hung his head and strode up to the door, rapping smartly against the wood. It flung open almost instantly, with a cry of "Oh, Fenrir!" and there Margaret was, clinging onto him as if he were her life. He inwardly cringed at that, but forced a smile out.

Stepping inside, he noted that it was really quite well-furnished. The furniture was quaint and some of it looked rather old and dusty, but it had this sort of old world charm to it.

_Perhaps this is not as bad as Sirius and Severus make it out to be._

"…and our room is the one over there on the second floor. Ignore the room on the third floor, it's where…where I keep all the junk accumulated over the years, nothing special!" Margaret ended breathlessly, eyes gleaming at Fenrir, who realised he had missed more than half of her blabbering.

"Oh. Okay," he smiled again, though it looked more like a grimace.

Abruptly, he made for the staircase, up to their room, luggage in the other hand. He didn't like how the stairs creaked heavily with his every step. Despite his sceptism at most things and his strong belief that he was as masculine as a man could get, the sounds of the staircase and the overall aura of the house was still making him uneasy.

Margaret seemed to have noticed nothing, as she left the house to pick up groceries.

* * *

Slamming his luggage shut as the last of his things were unpacked, Fenrir sighed comfortably as he propped himself onto the soft bed. Deciding to catch a quick nap, he turned off the bright desk lamp, and soon fell asleep.

He snoozed without disturbance, forgetting about the odd aura of the house- until; he felt the mattress move, as if someone had gotten on the bed with him. His eyes snapped open, wary.

"_Supernatural!" Sirius hollered as he saw Fenrir pass him with his luggage, headed for Margaret's house…_

He felt someone breathe near him, and there was brief contact with extremely cold skin that lasted for a second. He yelped, feeling very uncomfortable- he refused to think frightened, that was an unbefitting word for him, he believed.

"Who's there?" he questioned, glad that his voice didn't quaver.

The mattress shifted again, as if the person or thing on it were standing up.

"_Lucifer, fallen angel of_…" the voice hissed. Fenrir drew back. Despite his sharp hearing, he was unable to tell from the voice if it was a male or female; _or was it an 'it'?_

_Thump._

The weight on the mattress was removed. Fenrir quickly snatched this chance to reach for the desk lamp and turn it on. There was nothing there! His eyes widened in confusion.

"Ow…" a distinctively young male's voice sounded from the floor at the other end of the bed. Fenrir scrambled over and peered down.

A boy, definitely no more than fifteen, grinned shyly back up at him, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. Fenrir studied him cautiously. He had extremely pale skin that looked like it had never seen the light of day. His hair and eyes were coloured light brown. He had better than average features, though they were marred by a sickly look and the fact that he was very skinny. Fenrir could see the collarbones jutting out near the collar of his faded t-shirt.

"Sorry," he squeaked.

"I- you- who the hell are you?" Fenrir queried curiously.

The boy seemed to delight in having being noticed. Without warning, he plopped himself on the bed next to Fenrir happily. His eyes bravely met Fenrir's. Fenrir noted that there seemed to be overwhelming adoration in them.

"First, who are you?" he asked back.

"Fenrir Greyback, I'm with the woman who owns this house, Margaret," Fenrir replied. The boy crinkled his nose at the mention of her name, but quickly returned to smiling. Fenrir felt a little more at ease, feeling that this boy was most likely human and harmless. But still; who was he?

"I've told you who I am. Now, who are you?" Fenrir tried again. The boy looked reluctant to respond, so Fenrir ran a hand through his hair. Fenrir was pretty good at reading people, and he could tell this being craved attention quite a lot. Indeed, the boy edged closer to Fenrir, grinning again.

"I'm the boy who lives in the room on the third floor," he answered.

"Margaret never said anything about a- what's your name?" Fenrir asked, frowning. Was this Margaret's son? She had never mentioned anything about one before. Perhaps she had told the boy to hide, for fear of tainting their relationship with a reminder of a past love? Not that Fenrir would care, truthfully.

"My name…" the boy started, and then stopped, looking expectantly at Fenrir. Fenrir sighed and patted his head lightly. The boy looked like he was going to squeal in delight, or do something equally girlish. Fenrir fought back a laugh at that image.

"My name is…" he started exuberantly, but was interrupted by the sound of the main door opening. His eyes widened, and he pushed Fenrir back on to the spot where he was lying before with amazing strength. Quickly, he leapt off the bed and turned off the desk lamp.

"Goodbye, Fenrir," he whispered, barely audible, before disappearing into darkness.

* * *

"We're having a simple dinner tonight, dear, if you don't mind," Margaret said, scurrying around the kitchen and placing the cooked dishes on the table.

"Um, of course I don't mind," Fenrir smiled in a sickly fashion. He wasn't really that hungry, anyway. What he really wanted to do was to ask her about the boy. They ate their dinner in silence. When they were done, and Margaret had dumped the dishes into the dishwasher, Fenrir decided to bring up the topic of the boy.

"Hey, uh, Margaret?" he started.

"Yes, dear?" she smiled dreamily at him, much to his disgust.

"I was sleeping just now, when this boy who says he lives in the room on the third floor woke me up. Who's that? I tried asking, but he never really gave me the answer," Fenrir said.

Margaret stopped smiling, and sat upright, suddenly looking very serious, and rather intimidating.

"A boy, you say?" she hissed.

"Yeah, he's kind of sickly looking and really skinny?" Fenrir continued, unsure of why she seemed so furious.

"He's back at it again," he heard her mutter to herself.

"He's no boy," she looked up, and stared right at Fenrir, as if telling him about a horrendous omen, "He's a demon. He's the one who drove away all the previous men before you."

Fenrir raised his eyebrows. Sirius and Severus were serious about that supernatural crap, after all?

"Do you know his name, then?" Fenrir pressed on. He just needed a name. With a name, he could definitely dig up something on that boy –or demon, if this cranky woman and the darned waiters were telling the truth.

"Don't speak of him anymore!" Margaret snapped, getting off her seat, and heading to their room. Stopping midway in the staircase, she swivelled around, a frightening look on her face.

"Don't speak of him again," she repeated, "He will seek you out himself. That was frightening enough for the previous men. Don't you dare seek him out. All he will do is wreak misery upon you, upon us."

* * *

A/N: End of first chapter! It felt rather liberating, to use the characters more freely. This is my first AU fic, and I hope it doesn't read too badly.(:


	2. Lawn Daisy

A/N: It really feels odd writing this story…

* * *

Margaret left early for work the next day, without a goodbye. Fenrir was glad for that fact, as he contentedly tucked himself into one of the best breakfasts he'd ever had in a long time.

Suddenly, there was a sharp, quick knock on the door, and the sound of the main door being swung open. Hastily, Fenrir threw the empty cereal box under the table, feeling a bit guilty for having poured out all its contents into his bowl. A primly dressed woman with a large bag strode into the house, and headed for the third floor, where that room was.

Fenrir sneakily watched her from the kitchen, keeping his crunching of cereal as quiet as possible. She drew out several keys from her pocket, and slowly began unlocking the numerous locks latched on the door. When she was done, she slid into the room, and shut the door behind her firmly. Fenrir groaned in disappointment.

Curiousity got the better of him finally, and so he deserted his breakfast and made his way up. Standing next to the door, he could hear muffled mutterings from inside the room. He could mostly only hear that woman's snide, piercing voice, but there was definitely another softer voice, as well. It sounded human- specifically, it sounded like the unexpected bedroom visitor from yesterday.

Fenrir snorted to himself. Did Margaret really believe that he would fall for that dumb story about a demon on the third floor?

At that moment, the woman briskly walked out of the door. She almost bumped into Fenrir in shock.

"Who are you? What're you doing here?" she questioned him angrily.

Fenrir crossed his arms and rudely replied, "I live here, woman. Might I ask the same of _you_?"

The woman stiffened. Then, she turned away, ignoring him. Quickly, she reached for the keys in her pocket, getting ready to lock the door. Fenrir snatched them out of her hands, and grinned triumphantly.

"Who's in there?" he demanded.

"It's just an old room, that I'm hired to clean up every now and then," she snapped, looking irritated.

"And _you talk to yourself_ in there? Does everyone here have a screw loose in their heads, or something?" Fenrir remarked sarcastically. Without waiting for her response, he turned the doorknob, and kicked the door open.

The door swung open with a dramatic creak.

Inside, there was nothing- nothing but bare walls, dusty cupboards and a worn out bed. There was nobody inside.

* * *

Fenrir couldn't get himself to sleep that night. Sure, it was only ten at night, but the day at work had been absolutely exhausting, and he was entirely burned out. His body wanted rest, but his mind could not stop thinking about that room on the third floor.

He had tried to open it when he had returned from work, but all his attempts had failed. The only solution he had was rather destructive, and he'd be damned if he let Margaret know that he was still interested in that room.

_But where is that boy?_

"Are you thinking about me?" a voice next to him chirped happily, causing him to almost reflexively swat the darkness around him. An arm reached over him, and switched on the table lamp. The light revealed the boy who was propped up just next to him, in alarming proximity.

"Well, are you?" the boy pestered, gaze not leaving Fenrir's eyes.

"Yes," Fenrir said, averting his eyes from the boy, whilst sitting up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy beaming. "You actually went to look for me!" the boy exclaimed excitedly, crawling closer to Fenrir. Fenrir didn't know how he was supposed to react. There was an odd feeling in him- it wasn't fear, it was uncertainty, and something else, a feeling he didn't know how to describe.

"I didn't see you in there, though," Fenrir replied, hoping for an explanation. However, just like the previous night, just as the boy was about to reply, the main door opened, announcing Margaret's return. The boy shrugged, looking a little glum. The light went off. Fenrir reached into the blackness, trying to grasp the boy, to see if he was still there. No one.

"Damn you, Margaret," Fenrir mumbled, before pretending to be asleep as she entered the room.

* * *

Throughout breakfast the next morning, Margaret was going on cheerfully about how she had gotten a promotion, and would get to go out of the country soon on a business trip.

"Will you miss me?" she questioned sweetly.

Fenrir involuntarily felt like puking into his bacon. "Yeah, 'course I will," he said nonchalantly. Honestly, the sooner that workaholic of a woman left, and the longer she stayed away, the better. That response pleased her anyway, so with a peck on his cheek – Fenrir struggled to keep the bile down- she left for work again.

Once he was sure she had driven off, he gratefully took out a large packet of chips from the cupboard and headed for the television. Idly, he flicked through the channels whilst lying on the couch, chips placed conveniently on his stomach. There always was nothing good to watch in the morning.

"Fenrir!" a voice called out from the staircase. Immediately, Fenrir jolted up, almost spilling the chips over himself. The boy was standing near the base of the staircase, waving ecstatically to him.

"How- the door is locked-?"

_This boy is…_

"Good morning, Fenrir!" the boy said happily, running over and sitting next to him. He then made a motion to hug him, but paused halfway, as if waiting for permission. Fenrir bent down a little and opened his arms, despite his confusion. The boy took the cue and drew him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Isn't , isn't it great? I get to spend the morning with you!" the boy was stammering over himself in excitement. Then his face darkened slightly, and he asked quietly, "You don't mind, do you?"

Fenrir smiled wickedly, "I'd mind, unless you answer all the questions I want to ask you."

The boy's expression lightened again, and he drew even closer, happy at the attention, "Ask away!"

"What's your name?"

By now, the television in front of them had become just a mindless, droning machine that both ignored.

"Remus," the boy replied promptly.

"What's your background? Why are you locked in that room?"

Remus hung his head a little, sighing. This was going to take a while to explain. Inhaling deeply, he told Fenrir his story,

"Margaret isn't my blood mother. My mom died when I was very young. My father then met Margaret. They got together, but whenever my father saw me, he would reminisce about my mother. She didn't like that too much, obviously.

When my father passed away, she was furious that she had to be stuck with me. So she turned her focus to her work, and finding another man. I didn't understand why she behaved in such a manner then, but it starting from that time that I realised that I craved attention and care.

Whenever she brought back a new partner, I'd try to socialise with him. Most of them didn't like me hanging around, though, so eventually they decided to leave. Those who responded were chased out by Margaret herself.

She blamed it all on me. After some time, she decided she should just permanently shut me out of her life. The lady you saw yesterday, she's Margaret's close friend. She comes to clean up my room, pass some books for my…education, and leave some dry foods for me to eat- ensures my basic needs are met so I don't die up there and get old Marg in trouble!"

After he was done, Remus asked, in a rather pleading tone, "You wouldn't tell her, would you? That I told you this, and that I sneak out of my room every now and then?"

"Oh, surely not!" Fenrir replied hurriedly. Okay, so he had let slip the first night, but he didn't know better then, so it didn't count.

He felt sorry, and a bit protective of Remus now- emotions that he rarely ever experienced in his life. Slightly uncertain, he put an arm around Remus' shoulders, and patted him. He couldn't remember the last time he had attempted to be so gentle with someone, so this felt very new and odd to him.

"I'm so glad that you're here, Fenrir!" Remus said happily, absolute trust in his eyes. It felt as if this boy was idolising him in some warped way- it _was_ a tad creepy, but at the same time, flattering, for lack of a better word.

"Yeah…" Fenrir said, scratching the back of his head. He reached down to get a chip. Remus did the same.

"I love you, Fenrir," he said, with a surprising lack of shyness. There was an extremely unsettling, serious look on his face. Fenrir looked down cautiously at him. The boy meant it in a platonic, father-son way, right?

_He probably knows too little of the outside world to know how to interact "properly" with others; let this slip, would you?_

Fenrir smiled, patting his shoulder again. This house and its inhabitants- albeit him- were an odd bunch; and he had a bad feeling things were going to get more complex from now on.

* * *

A/N: There wasn't much happening in this chapter, just much explanation. But that means that I can now move on with the plot! :D Thanks for reading!


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